


like a colt in the meadow

by seventhstar



Series: a covenant with a bright blazing star [12]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Katsuki Yuuri, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Regency, Class Issues, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mutual Pining, Omega Victor Nikiforov, Regency, Regency Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 03:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14416461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: What Viktor needs, Yuuri decides after some thought, is company. Surely it is not right that he has only Yuuri and the servants to talk to. (Well, there is Makkachin, and Vicchan, but neither of them are much good at talking.) Yuuri himself is hardly a sparkling conversationalist. Now that he can walk about the house and grounds a little, Yuuri ought to introduce him about the community. That is what Yuuri would have done if he were married in the usual way, and so if he wishes to make amends, he must show Viktor the same courtesy.He considers his neighbors. Yuuko and Takeshi are a day’s drive away, but Yuuri remembers the incident of the stolen jewelry and immediately dismisses the idea. The Duke is certainly not a possibility. That leaves the local families in good standing, and the parson and her wife.[part of an ongoing series of fics, telling the story of poor and scandalous trademan's son viktor nikiforov's marriage of convenience to the reclusive lord katsuki]





	like a colt in the meadow

**Author's Note:**

> welp i was trying to outline and realized i was going to have to do the unthinkable: EDIT THE POSTED FIC TO MAINTAIN CONTINUITY
> 
> currently, the only thing i have done is change the timing of "neither billet doux nor poison pen". as none of the events set up by that installment have yet occurred, it shouldn't be a huge issue.

What Viktor needs, Yuuri decides after some thought, is company. Surely it is not right that he has only Yuuri and the servants to talk to. (Well, there is Makkachin, and Vicchan, but neither of them are much good at talking.) Yuuri himself is hardly a sparkling conversationalist. Now that he can walk about the house and grounds a little, Yuuri ought to introduce him about the community. That is what Yuuri would have done if he were married in the usual way, and so if he wishes to make amends, he must show Viktor the same courtesy.

He considers his neighbors. Yuuko and Takeshi are a day’s drive away, but Yuuri remembers the incident of the stolen jewelry and immediately dismisses the idea. The Duke is certainly not a possibility. That leaves the local families in good standing, and the parson and her wife.

 _A parson’s wife must be open-minded and accepting,_ Yuuri thinks. And if she thinks well of Viktor, she can influence others as well. It has not escaped Yuuri’s notice that no one has tried to visit Viktor so far, though politeness or simple curiosity ought to have brought someone to his door right now.

No matter, he will attend to the matter now. He will invent some plausible reason to call on the parson; this will obligate her wife to make a return call. So after some thought, Yuuri rides down to the parsonage to discuss the funding for the local school. The parson talks at length about the roof repairs and the expense of chalk and slates.

Yuuri ought to be paying attention, but he keeps trying and failing to remember the parson’s wife’s maiden name. Will it be offensive if he merely calls her Mrs. Collins? Has anyone ever told him the parson’s wife’s name? In his panic he pledges the school more money than he should. _I had better not tell Viktor about this,_ he thinks, _he will not like it._

Finally, to his relief, Mrs. Collins’ wife makes her appearance, keys jangling at her waist. Her maiden name is Boot, and Mrs. Boot-Collins turns out to be blond, and fair, and rather doll-like in appearance. Her hair is so elaborately coiffed that the sparkle of the spells force Yuuri to discard his spectacles. _She and Viktor could discuss hair,_ he thinks. She does not look, to his eye, to be pleased to see him—but then, Yuuri thinks, who is?

“His lordship was telling me how improved Lord Nikiforov is,” Mrs. Collins says. “We were just talking of how good it would be to call on him, and now you may.”

“How lovely,” Mrs. Boot-Collins says frostily. She curtsies.

Yuuri is dreadfully certain he has made a critical mistake, but he excuses himself and manages to reach the house before his panic can assert itself. He means to go to the study and seclude himself, but Betsy is lingering in the front hall, arranging a bouquet in a vase and insinuating that Dr. Lee is a quack.

“His lordship’s not right today,” she says candidly. Yuuri seems to recall her having a more refined accent before. Possibly she has realized there is no need to impress him. “Only walked an hour before he went back up.”

“Give me that,” Yuuri mutters. He plucks a few flowers from the bouquet. “Has he eaten? Never mind, just put the tray in the library.”

“Yes, milord.”

He trudges upstairs; having learned his lesson, he knocks and goes in as soon as Viktor calls for him to come in. Viktor is lying on the floor to exercise again, this time with Vicchan asleep on his back while balances on his forearms and toes. A shirt has been tied awkwardly around Viktor’s head. There’s a length of ribbon knotted crookedly around his neck. He is not wearing a shirt.

Yuuri stares at his head, and only at his head, and not at the gooseflesh on Viktor’s back where the cold air has touched him.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“No,” Viktor says hoarsely. He sinks down into the carpet facedown.

“The fire has gone out.”

“I put it out. Please, leave it.”

The windows are cracked open, and there is a chill in the air. Despite that, there is sweat rolling down Viktor’s back, and he is pink all over. Yuuri suppresses all his nightmares of fever and kneels down beside him on the carpet.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s the magic suppression.” Viktor groans before rolling over. “Dr. Lee said I could expect the symptoms to continue to worsen.”

“When will you be allowed to stop?”

“Soon, I hope.”

“Is it working?” Yuuri asks. “Are you stronger?”

“Very much so. I think he is not a charlatan, after all. But that does not mean you should pay him more!”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Despite himself, Yuuri smiles. He hopes Mrs. Boot-Collins does not tell Viktor how much money Yuuri pledged. He looks down at the flowers in his hand—he has twisted them into shreds—and winces. He tosses them magically out the open window. They’re better off as fertilizer. “I had Betsy take our tea tray to the library. Perhaps it would be more comfortable for us to read there?”

Viktor looks sharply at him, but to Yuuri’s relief, he does not mention Yuuri’s previous decree that he was to stay out of the library. He takes the shirt off his head, smooths it down with his hands, and puts it on; Vicchan touches their ankles with his nose until they open the door to let him out into the hallway. He scampers off.

Yuuri gives Viktor his arm, and escorts him down to the library.

The library is one of Yuuri’s favorite rooms, though he can hardly remember the last time he spent any length of time in it. There are books floor to ceiling; there are windows and artfully arranged chairs to read it; and with the installation of Viktor’s lightning lamps, it is quite cozy even in the evenings and in the back corners where the shelves block out the sun.

It is a little cold there. In deference to Viktor’s condition, Yuuri does not light a fire. Instead he brings a rug thrown over a nearby couch for warmth before joining Viktor on one of the sofas. He charms the rug warm as he tucks it over his lap. The tea tray is sitting on a nearby table, steam spiraling up out of the cups, and Eros is sitting beside it.

To Yuuri’s surprise, Viktor takes the book himself instead of passing it to Yuuri to continue reading.

“Now, where were we? The ball?”

“Yes, she was in the carriage.”

“Do you ever have balls here, Yuuri?”

“No,” Yuuri says sharply, and then immediately regrets it. “We did when my parents were...but not recently.”

Viktor looks at him softly. He picks up Yuuri’s cup of tea and presses it into his hands. The warmth is pleasant; Yuuri looks down into the cup to avoid looking at Viktor’s expression. He doesn’t want to be pitied—not by anyone—especially not by Viktor.

“It’s difficult.” Viktor says, after a long moment. “Trying to fill up the hole they’ve left in your heart, when they’re gone.”

“Your parents are…?”

“When I was fifteen. It was a long time ago.”

“Still.” Yuuri lays his hand on Viktor’s arm. _Fifteen,_ he thinks, _that must have been…ten years ago?_ “How old are you?”

“What an indelicate question!” Viktor laughs. “How old do you think I am?”

It would have been more sensible to learn these details before the wedding. Yuuri does know that Viktor is older than he is, but that does not help him much. Viktor might be a year older; he might be a full ten years older. He peers at Viktor’s face, pretending to be guessing at his age while he admires the way Viktor’s eyes light when he’s genuinely amused.

“...Twenty-five?”

“Twenty-seven.”

 _Twelve years ago,_ Yuuri thinks. He tries to imagine being without his parents before he was even a man, and cannot. And Yuuri could inherit his parent’s fortune, had been educated, had been prepared his whole life to take his father’s place. Whereas Viktor…

The thought is uncomfortable; Yuuri discards it. He ignores the way the tea in his cup is trembling.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He touches Viktor’s arm. “Did you have other family?”

“No. There’s no one.”

“But your aunt—”

“My aunt—” Viktor shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“No, you can tell me,” Yuuri says. “You must not think—I would not take her word over yours.”

Viktor takes a long draught of his tea. His hair hides his expression. “It does not matter.”

Yuuri thinks that it must matter a great deal, or Viktor would not be so upset he could not keep his countenance. But he does not press. He drinks his tea while Viktor composes himself, and if Viktor reads with more fervor than the story warrants, says nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

_The ball was everything Gertrude had dreamed of. The ballroom had been hung with banners and strings of magelights, with wreaths of flowers charmed to smell sweet all night long on every wall. There were candles with flames of pink and green and blue on every table. The music was divine, more lively than anything her mother allowed at home. And best of all were the people! The omegas in sheer gowns, dripping with gems, their dresses embroidered and beaded and beribboned, their tiny kid slippers peeking out beneath their skirts. The alphas in waistcoats and breeches, each more handsome than the next, their figures accented to perfection by the cuts of their coats._

_Word had spread quickly of Gertrude’s dowry, helped along by her aunt’s wagging tongue. Her dance card was full before the first set had begun. Gertrude was a great lover of dance, and opportunities were few in her little village, where gently born alphas were scarce and she had five sisters to compete with. When her first partner took her to the head of the line, and the music began to play, she felt as she would dance right from the earth to the heavens. Heart pounding with joy, she was determined to dance all night long._

 

* * *

Mrs. Boot-Collins comes to visit the next morning. Yuuri hears Withers letting her in and makes himself as scarce as possible by going for a ride around the estate to ostensibly check the drainage systems in the fields. He stays out two hours, more than enough time for a polite morning call, and returns with high hopes of Viktor in good spirits.

When he finds Viktor, Viktor is in one of the parlors with a tea tray; there are four or five cakes there, and enough crumbs to suggest there were twice that number to start with. Viktor is in the same tattered white shirt and trousers that he wears every day; not exactly what Yuuri would have expected for a morning call, but perhaps he is tired.

He hopes Minako never hears of this.

“Viktor!”

Viktor drops the cake and recoils. “Yuuri!”

“Good morning,” he says. “You’re eating, that is good.” Viktor eats so little at meals that Yuuri has fought the urge to pile second and third servings onto his plate more than once. Only the presence of the occasional empty tray when Yuuri is out keeps him silent on the matter. Perhaps Viktor dislikes the food Cook makes and is too polite to say so. Yuuri ought to see about it.

“I am not eating. Mrs. Boots-Collins ate these.” Viktor shoves the tray away and drops his half-eaten cake onto it.

“It must have been pleasant for you to have callers.”

“She read me three of Fordyce’s sermons before I feigned the vapors to rid myself of her.” Viktor picks up the cake again and takes a delicate bite out of it. “She complained about the furniture, the shirt I was wearing, assured me that my accent was sinful—”

“Your accent?”

“My accent.” Viktor sighs. “Is it really so terrible? You do not seem affected.”

Yuuri stares at the ceiling to hide his blush. He wishes Viktor would not tease him. Viktor _has_ to know that his accent is charming.

After a moment, Viktor takes pity on him and asks him about the irrigation in the fields, which Yuuri is happy to discuss. Viktor does not know much about farming, and admits it, but he grasps the essential financial difficulty immediately. Yuuri is trying to diversify his income, to begin buying shares in businesses that will be more reliable than he expects farming to be in future generations. The expense of improving farming can only increase his profits so much, and yet Yuuri has to take into consideration the needs of his tenants as well.

Yuuri has wondered if Viktor’s initial interest in his business, at the beginning of their marriage, was a false front meant to lure Yuuri in. Now he suspects that it’s Viktor’s polite, light conversation that was the front, and Viktor is in fact interested in the national economy and a diversified portfolio.

He puts all thoughts of more social activity aside. Clearly Viktor is in no state to receive visitors when he still has not the energy to attend to his own appearance. Until his illness, Viktor was fastidious about his looks, and Yuuri cannot believe all of that was only for Yuuri’s benefit. He’s seen Viktor look longingly at himself in the mirror.

Part of Yuuri is pleased, because the idea of having to share Viktor with anyone before Yuuri has had the chance to make inroads into Viktor’s good will irritates him. Viktor has suffered enough at Yuuri’s hand; what kind of husband would he be, to invite in the Mrs. Boots-Collins of the world?

“Shall we continue our novel?” Viktor asks.

“Will you read this time?”

“I suppose.”

Yuuri blushes again, despite himself. “I like the sound of your voice better than my own,” he admits.

Viktor opens the novel where a bookmark has been left. Yuuri can’t see his expression as he bends his head to read, but he can see Viktor’s ear—can see that the shell of it is red.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are much appreciated! i'm trying really hard to nail down the events of the next couple installments right now!


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